


Tech Noir

by ravenstrange



Series: Save Tonight [2]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Endings? We don't know her, Cyberpunk Jazz Clubs are Totally a Thing Now, F/M, Johnny's Mind goes Noir at Night, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, slight AU, two stories in one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenstrange/pseuds/ravenstrange
Summary: The problem is bigger than either of them expected it to be.  The Relic, the drugs, it makes things far worse than they could have imagined; her body is just not suitable for her anymore, it’s not suitable for him. But there’s a solution, one he’s loathe to take: his body is still in the tower, all he has to do is go to it.She begs him to go, and he does only because she asks, but what comes next isn’t easy. And he’s willing to risk it all, to burn down the city once more, to get her back. But a greater mystery is unraveling in his dreams, only serving to bring up the question: what's real?Cyberpunk at day, Noir at night, this is what happens when Johnny gets his body back with V’s engram as a (not so) unwelcomed passenger.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand & Female V, Johnny Silverhand/Female V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Series: Save Tonight [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114709
Comments: 27
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

The problem is bigger than either of them expected it to be.

The Relic, the drugs, it makes things far worse than they could have imagined; her body is just not suitable for her anymore, it’s not suitable for him.

“There is a solution,” Alt tells them, something she found in Arasaka’s files. _His_ body is still there, and she can help him into it. One of them can walk out of there, and they can survive. She can keep her body safe, until more suitable developments come up. It sounds like empty promises, and yet he hates the swell of _hope_ that curls up onto his chest and rests there.

But the hope disappears when he realizes it’s coming from _her_ and not him, and he shakes his head in protest.

“No fuckin’ way, won’t go out there without you,” He tells V, and he knows she’s crying, because he can feel her sadness wash over him in waves. Currents that are threatening to take him under. “It’s either you, or neither of us, not gonna fuckin’ do that.”

V’s sadness turns to anger, as she shoves her hands against his chest, “That wasn’t the fucking deal! We risked too fucking much to get here!” The sharp reminder of Rogue dying, the sharp reminder of dragging her into something he shouldn’t have, riding on his conscious. 

“You don’t have much time,” Alt says, “A choice must be made.”

“Johnny’s goin’ back,” V answers, and he grabs her arm.

“I fuckin’ said—”

“ _Fuck you,_ you’re going to go back to your fucking body, and you’re gonna have that second fucking chance that I know you wanted. Fuck, it’d be a third chance now, right? Fucking _take it_ , Johnny.” Her voice is cracking, her body is shaking, “Do it. For me, _please_.” And the begging is what does him in. “ _Please.”_

His eyes feel hot, if it’s even possible in this digital state, and he wipes at his eyes. “Fine, _fine,_ V, but I’m gonna do anything I can to—”

“I know,” She says, “You don’t have to say it,” and she sadly smiles as she taps her head.

She escorts him to the well and holds onto his hand as he sits on the edge of it. He squeezes her hand, as he lowers himself into the well.

“Don’t forget about me,” she says softly, and it’s the last thing he hears before he wakes up.

His eyes shoot open, and he sharply inhales, a cold dark room, only lights from the monitors around. Wires, sticking out of him, and he starts pulling them out one by one, until he realizes his metal arm is missing. It’s going to make escaping Arasaka a lot worse, and he doesn’t have much time.

Doesn’t want to leave V here, in their hands. Can’t do that to her, refuses to do that to her.

He jumps off the cold metal table, grabbing whatever clothing he can find off of other bodies in the room, dead scientists that were zeroed for one reason or another. Robbing graves for folks who never really deserved the life they had, robbing graves of folks who never really understood what they were getting into with Arasaka. Secure Your Soul.

Fuck that.

It wasn’t until he was leaving the room that he saw it. His arm on the table, along with the other cyberware of the unlucky souls Arasaka decided to use for their experiments. He grabbed it, and ran out.

Cameras were turned off, most likely due to his AI cyber ex running the show now, and little lights turned on down the hallway, a silent guide telling him where to go.

When he returned to the central chamber, V’s body was gone. But what was left behind was her jacket, her bullet pendant, and his gun. “Fuck! Alt, I know you can fucking hear me, where is V?”

The light at the door, towards the exit turned on. “Not leaving without her, where the fuck is she?”

The light turned off and turned on again, and he knew leaving that way, it wasn’t gonna bring him to V’s body. It was gonna bring him back to the city, and fuck if he was gonna go back on his promise.

As if Alt was sensing his impatience, the light started flickering at an alarming rate, as the security cameras started to reboot. There was no time, he had to get out of there.

He put his metal arm inside V’s jacket, along with his gun and her pendant, wrapped it up the best he could and held it to his chest as tight as he could as he ran as hard as his body would let him. 

Getting out into the fresh air of the city, walking out the backdoor of the building, as swarms of bombers and AVs started to fly around the tower, how the fuck he managed to get out of there without getting caught wasn’t something he was able to focus on. He had never been able to walk out of Arasaka Tower alive, and he couldn’t push his luck right now.

Not when he needed to gather strength, gather resources, if he was going to storm it all over again to get her back.

By the time he made it to a data term, he was rain soaked through his stolen clothes, hugging V’s jacket close to his chest, knowing he didn’t look any different than any other fucked up gonk on the street. He had no means of getting a car, no eddies to his name, nothing but what he held so tight to his chest.

He turned on the data term and started to look for anything, something that could work; when he felt something buzzing from the jacket.

V’s holo.

He didn’t want to know who was calling, but he pushed himself a little further, getting to a bench and digging through the jacket pockets until he pulled it out.

The smiling android face of Delamain, “Hello, I was informed that you may need my assistance! Oh! You’re not V!”

“Yeah,” Johnny choked out, “Have a feelin’ you were sent for me.”

“A friend of V is a friend indeed; I have your location and will be there shortly.” The holo call disconnected, and Johnny stared at it before he shoved it back inside V’s jacket.

_“Should call someone,” he said, taking another drag of the cigarette, before tossing it over the edge of the roof. It disappeared, never really existing in the first place. “Say goodbye, if things don’t go your way.”_

_She’s silent for a long time, before she replies, “No one to call. Not one for goodbyes anyway.”_

_“Wish I had someone I could have called; wish I had been given the chance.” The similarities in the situations are not lost on him. Stormed Arasaka for a woman before and was more than gearing up to do it again. But this time, his motivations were different. Wasn’t a scream for his ego to be noticed, no it was about her life. He made the peace with dying to save hers, and looking at her now, he’d do it again._

_“I can feel what you’re feeling, Johnny,” She says quietly, as she twists the pill in between her fingers. She stands up, and he stands with her, as she pops the pill and swallows it down._

_“Won’t let you down,” he says, before he takes control._

Delamain’s taxi pulls up, and the door opens. He forces himself in the backseat and says to drop him off at V’s place, it’s the only place he can think of.

No one gives him a second look as he makes it through her Megabuilding to her place, and gets the door open by putting in her code. The scents and sounds of Night City before didn’t bother him, but getting into her apartment and the door shutting behind him, the scents and sounds _overwhelm_ him.

She’s _everywhere_ , and it knocks him off his feet to his knees, the jacket he had so curled up in him falling from his arm and to the floor. He closes his eyes tightly, and allows himself to feel something, _anything_ , that encompasses everything he – _they_ had been through in the last year together.

The emotion overtakes him, it burns his eyes and blurs his vision, it clamps around his heart and stabs it, and he screams out in anguish. He screams until his lungs can’t take it anymore, he screams until his throat is raw, and when he can’t scream anymore, he breaks into sobs. He’s glad she can’t see him like this. See the affect she really had on him after all those months. Went from wanting her dead, to doing anything he could just to keep her alive. Would give anything to see her alive, one last time.

Instead, everything got FUBAR. Nothing worked like it was fucking supposed to, and it’s just another fuck up in the long line of Johnny Silverhand fuckups over the decades. Finally wanted something _good_ to happen, finally wanted something in his life to go _right_ and end up how he wanted, and yet again…Night City ate him, and someone he cared about alive. Someone he—

Nope, he wasn’t going to go there. Wasn’t going to give himself the satisfaction of going there. Was no point to it. When he finally quieted himself, when he finally found composure enough, he stood up, gathering the items on the floor and bringing them to her bed.

He slid open the compartment next to the bed that V liked to pretend he didn’t know about, where she kept items of his that she had found around the city, clothing that once belonged to him. Aviators, clothes, boots, the dog tags he gave her for safe keeping.

The stolen clothes he has on get tossed into the trash, and he grabs his metal arm, and carries it into the bathroom. He watches himself in the mirror, looking at him holding his arm, eyes narrowed, and inhales sharply as he snaps his arm back into place. It takes a little for the connection to be made, but he’s able to move his fingers freely, though he needs a Ripper to look at it.

He showers, and doesn’t let himself think of anything, keeping his mind blank. He dries off, and realizes that he smells like her, like everything else in this room does, and he ignores the sharpness that he feels. He dresses in his old clothes and picks up her bullet medallion.

He holds it up to the light, twisting it between his fingers, before he settles on adjusting the rope. He settles the medallion around his neck and slips it under his shirt. His dog tags go over the shirt, aviators go on and settle on his nose.

He grabs her jacket, his gun, and he leaves.

***

He drives the Porsche out to North Oak, pulling up through Kerry’s driveway. He parks, and walks by Kerry’s messed up droid guards, and pounds on the door with his fist.

There’s no answer, so he pounds again, and just keeps pounding on the door, until finally he hears yelling on the other side, and the door opens.

Kerry’s expression goes from anger to confusion, as Johnny lowers his fist.

“Johnny?”

“In the flesh. Somehow.”

“And V?”

Johnny’s pause, lack of answer, expression does the answering _for_ him and Kerry runs a hand over his mouth. “Fuck. Okay, get in here, I’ll get drinks.”

“Thanks,” he replies, shifting V’s jacket to his other arm, and when he comes up to Kerry’s couch, he sets the jacket down on it, and his gun on top of it. “Didn’t want to stay at her place. Didn’t feel right.”

“Shit, Johnny, I can only imagine,” He’s handed a glass of tequila, and he drinks it quickly, Kerry filling it right back up again. “The fuck happened?”

Johnny sinks into the couch, “Same thing that’s always fucking happened.” He doesn’t elaborate, but there’s no reason why he thinks Kerry doesn’t follow. Kerry has the date of Johnny’s death tattooed on him as a reminder, so there’s no mistaking the connection being made.

Kerry makes a sound not unlike an agreement, and drinks. “You can crash here. Not like I got anyone but me here these days. Take your picks of the couches.”

They drink more, talk about the old days, talk about anything _other_ than what happened in the last year. Johnny senses that Kerry gets that he can’t handle that right now, and fuck he’d be right.

V’s medallion feels like it’s burning into his chest, ignoring the burning sensation of the alcohol, ignoring any other burning sensation. He has to go back, he knows he has to go back, but he’s at a loss on _how_.

So he drinks more, drinks long after Kerry passes out on the floor in front of the couches, and Johnny himself isn’t long after him.

He closes his eyes, his hand over his chest, the memory of V drawing him into dreams like a siren.


	2. Chapter 2

Welles Jazz Club is filled to the brim with souls with nothing to lose and nothing to gain, all reaching out for a connection. Something to fill the empty parts of them, if only for an hour. To relieve themselves of self-hatred for an hour or two, before life drags them kicking and screaming into the night.

He walks in, tipping his fedora hat to the young woman behind the hostess podium. “Silverhand,” She greets him, seduction curling through her voice, begging for him to take the bait. “Was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Altiera, not here for you, doll,” His voice is rough, dry. He reaches into his pocket of his black jacket, pulling out a cigar. He puts it between his lips, metal fingers moving away as the young woman pulls out a lighter and lights it for him.

“One of these days,” Altiera says with a wisp of hope and desire, a heavy mix he’s loathed to ignore, “you will be.”

He could lie to her, tell her that he was, take her into the coat closet and get lost between her thighs. Making her call his name, and pretending it’s another voice he hears, but tonight his heart isn’t into it. Tonight, he’s here for another reason.

Puff of the cigar, he lets the smoke bellow out slowly between his lips as she pulls the royal purple curtain back, revealing the rest of the club for him.

The heavy mix of sex, drugs, and music fills the air, as he makes his way through the unlucky johns and janes with their joytoys pretending the world doesn’t exist. Some nights, he’s right there with them. A rough day, a bad case, looking to forget the horrors he’s seen in the arms of a woman whose name he’s never going to get to know. Life of a PI ain’t fucking easy, but it’s easier than a lot of these people have seen. He might have sold his soul years ago, but he still remembers what it was like to have one.

Women and men dressed to their finest curl against each other looking for connection. On the stage, a man plays piano, his gold cyberware lining his neck, the fedora tilted to the side on top of his frosted blond locks. A fake appearance for an otherwise realistic man, as he approaches the bar, he catches the pianist’s eye. The man looks up and nods, a smile greeting a hello, continuing playing. Eurodyne is one of the best musicians in the clubs these days, but instead of getting out and touring the world, he chooses to stay here, in Night City’s most sought after jazz club.

Why, he doesn’t know. But he can’t fault a man for knowing what he enjoys and where his life path is.

He finds his way to the bar, cigar between his lips as he sits down. He slides a glass ash tray in front of him, tapping the cigar into it, and rests it as the bartender comes over. A woman he knows too well, a past lover turned closest confidant. “Silverhand,” she speaks with almost an annoyance to see him, “Back on another case? Or here for something else?” Her eyebrow raises, fingers tapping at the bar.

“On a case,” He says, taking off his fedora and setting it on the bar in front of him, “Was told by a client to meet them here.”

“Oh yeah?” She replies, mixing him a tequila old fashioned, the extras the way he always ordered it. When the drink is set in front of him, she leans forward. “Do you know who the client is?”

He takes a drink and raises an eyebrow, “Rogue, you’re good at asking questions you know the answer to already.”

Rogue crosses her arms and leans back, “Then that’s a no. You’re either the worst private eye in NC, or the worst in general.”

“Jury is still out,” He replied in earnest, taking another drink, as the crowd in the club started to still and quiet as Eurodyne started to change the tune. The surefire sign of someone else coming to the stage, which was strange of itself. Eurodyne _never_ shared the stage with anyone. “Someone new?” He asks the bartender, and she’s back to leaning forward on the bar.

“Oh, you’ll _like_ her.”

“Will I.” He says, as a statement, not a question.

“Everyone lovesick gonk in this room like her the moment they see her. Fall in love the moment they _hear_ her.”

And as if on cue, heels clicked onto the hard wood of the stage, and with the room going silent it was the only sound that could be heard. All business stopped; all chatter stopped. All eyes were on her.

She wore red, the color a knife has after being pulled out of someone’s back. The dress hugged every curve she had, and rested above her knee, and as she walked the dress shifted with her, a blend of red and chrome. From the center of the stage, a microphone rose up. It wasn’t until she walked up to it, that Eurodyne started playing.

Silverhand watched as her long slim fingers gripped around the base of the microphone, her long nails caressing the metal like a lover. She swayed to the music, closing her eyes as she waited to come in, and the crowd swayed along with her.

Her dark red lips parted, a deep breath, a slow exhale, as she started to sing, her voice smooth and sultry to the slow pace of Eurodyne’s playing, “We lost everything, we had to pay the price…”

Her voice feels like smooth silk moving over his body; he’s lost in the feel of it, mesmerized by her tone, her passion in the words. The song feels familiar, like a past he can’t connect to, a past that is _just_ out of reach.

“Told you,” Rogue’s voice cuts through, a snarking remark before she continues down the bar to other customers. He pays her no mind, focus solely on the mysterious woman on stage.

He stays at the bar, listening to her set, forgetting why he had even come to the Welles Club, finishing his drink as she finished the song. She transitions into a more fast paced one, that gets everyone up and dancing. She detaches the microphone from its stand and walks around on the stage, fully aware of her presence.

The type of woman that knows she could get a man to burn the entire world down, just to see her smile in his general direction.

A drink down, a cigar finished, by the time the woman walked off the stage, the mood had shifted in the club. As if the worries of the patrons were gone, as if nothing mattered outside this room. Folks acted like there was nothing else, treated each other with passion that he hadn’t seen since the latest drug release. The woman’s presence alone was unlike anything on the market, and he knew if he wasn’t careful he’d become an addict. And being an addict for a woman like that was nothing but trouble.

Rogue dropped off another drink to him, and as Eurodyne continued his solo playing, Silverhand was brought back to the thought that he had come here to meet a client. A client who hadn’t showed. He pulled out his holo pocket watch; he’d give it another hour before calling it. Wasn’t the first time a client called for him and didn’t show up. He got his eddies either way, his time was paid for. He dug around for his pack of cigarettes, and took one out, tossing his pack on the bar counter as he lit his.

But it was the feeling of fingers lightly on his shoulder, fingers dragging slowly from one shoulder to another, and then disappearing, that caught his attention.

And suddenly, there she was. The vision in a deadly red, taking the bar stool next to him. She took her time getting settled into the seat, crossing one deliciously smooth leg over the other, her dress riding up only so slightly, that if he were a lesser man his mind would have already been running with thoughts.

And he _was_ a lesser man, because those thoughts were already crossing his mind.

She leaned over towards him, her long fingers grabbing his cigarette case and pulling out one for herself. She placed the cigarette delicately between her lips and leaned forward to him; an invitation.

He took it, curious to see where this would be going, as he clicked his lighter on. She inhaled on the cigarette, and slowly let the smoke out between her perfect blood red lips, and looked him over. “Did you enjoy the set?”

“I did. Haven’t seen your likes around here,” He replied, a drag of his cigarette as he watched the bartender come back over, placing a mixed drink in front of the singer before disappearing again.

“Sweetheart, you haven’t seen my likes _anywhere_ ,” She replied with a smirk, and ashes her cigarette, setting it down in the ash tray before she picked up her drink. She took a drink and smiled back towards Rogue, who waved it off.

“That’s the truth,” He found it curious, this woman who had never been here before suddenly seemed to captivate the hearts and bodies of those around her, all with a simple glance. Men and women alike were staring at them talking at the bar, a fact that she chose to seem oblivious to.

She held out her hand, “Veronica Fox,” and his metal hand took hers and shook it. “I’m guessing you’re Johnny Silverhand.”

He smirked, “What gave it away?” He retracted his hand, or tried to, but she kept it in her grasp, turning his metal hand over, her fingers tracing the markings of his palm.

“Late century tech, on a man with a current century look in his eye. Name’s rather obvious, but I suppose I’m not paying for good names.”

There it was then. She was his client. “Suppose I’m here to meet you.”

“You are,” She says, “And I hope you’re worth every single ED that I’m paying you.” Her drink is set down, and she picks the cigarette up once more, inhaling the smoke slowly, and letting it out just as slow. He wonders, does she know that every action she takes can be viewed erotically? How she moves, how she talks, but he supposes it’s part of the act. One the musician must play to get by.

“What’s the case?” He asks, taking another drink from his glass, turning to face her.

“I need you to help me recover something I’ve lost.” Her free hand comes up to her collarbone, her fingers trailing up from there to her chin painfully slow, and despite trying to not take the bait, he follows the motion with his eyes greedily.

“Simple enough,” He says, his eyes darting from their previous location on her body to her bright blue eyes. “What is it that you’ve lost?”

Her fingers move back down from her chest, to the neckline of her dress on the left side, slowly pulling it back. “My heart,” she replies, revealing a giant scar right where her heart should be. “It was taken from me, and I will pay anything to regain it.”

It’s a botch job, whatever has been done to her, and she has the scars to match it. “Give me the information that you have, and I’ll investigate it.”

She replaces the strap of her dress, and waves Rogue over. The bartender places a shard in front of him, and gestures for him to take it. He raises an eyebrow at Rogue, who only smirks and walks away. “All the information I have is on that shard,” the woman in red says.

“Veronica,” He starts, and she holds up her hand.

“V, please, Mr. Silverhand.”

“Johnny,” He replies in kind, and she smirks.

“Johnny, there’s one more condition to this case.”

“And that is?”

He watches as she stands, uncrossing her legs slowly and standing up, “I’m to be your partner in this.”

Silverhand raises an eyebrow, “I’m afraid that isn’t possible, I work alone.”

“You’ll make an exception in my case, I’m sure. You came recommended by my dear friends.” She gestures broadly in the club, but he knows she’s talking about Rogue and Eurodyne. “And I will pay you triple your asking price.”

He shouldn’t take the case. Something about this seems off, but he just can’t place his finger on it. But with a dame like her looking at him how she is, eyes begging him to give into her, to help see this through, he can’t say no. “Alright. You have a deal.” He holds his hand out to solidify it, and she takes it, fingers caressing his hand like a glove, and shakes.

She withdraws her hand slowly, her fingers drawing lines down his hand as she does so, “Wonderful.” She finishes her drink at the bar in one go, and turns to leave.

“How will I contact you?” He asks, speaking before thinking, sounding like a lovesick gonk for a client he doesn’t know. Damn shame.

“I’ll contact you,” She says, and with a sway of her hips she walks away, disappearing into the smoke of the club.

He replaces his fedora on his head, unable to chase the feeling that this woman is going to be trouble. She looks like the type of woman he would chase and get lost in during his youth, and he cannot help the way his mind wanders as he watches her walk away.

This woman is trouble. And he’s falling for it, hook, line, and sinker.

***

Johnny wakes up with a start and takes a moment to get his surroundings. It’s hard to pull himself out of the dream, but he knows it was that: a dream. It was too surreal, too...close to what he wanted; it to be real. V as a lounge singer seems too funny to be real, but if it’s all that he gets, the dream versions of her, then he’s going to just have to take it until he can figure something else out.

Groaning at the hangover, he pushes himself to sit up, rubbing his eyes. Kerry is still passed out on the floor, drooling into the carpet. Johnny’s aviators are on the table in front of him, next to a pack of cigarettes, and he grabs both as he stands up to head outside.

It’s after he lights the cigarette, and takes a slow drag of it, that he hears it.

“What the fuck?”

The familiar voice jolts him, his heart betraying him in his reaction. He turns to look behind him.

Standing before him, looking like she had never walked into Arasaka Tower, is V. He puts his hand to his head, and realizes she does the exact same thing. He steps forward to her, she does the same. She mirrors his actions. She’s glitching in and out, and the realization hits both of them hard.

“Fuck,” they say in unison, “Not _again_.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Okay, this is seriously fucked up,” V groans, glitching in and out of his vision as she paces. He can feel her emotion, anxiety and nervousness, anger and frustration all in one go.

“Fuck, V, you need to calm down,” He says, gripping the railing of Kerry’s balcony so tight his knuckles go white. “Because the more you react, the worse it gets.”

“Oh, yeah? Now you know how it feels, I fucking guess!” She screams back at him. She throws her hands up and glitches out of his sight for a moment, before she glitches back, sitting on the railing with her hands next to her sides, her legs hanging off the edge. “What the fuck happened?”

She’s erratic and she is scared, he can tell because he can _feel_ it, and he wonders if this was what it was like when he first woke up in _her_ head. “I don’t fucking know, why would I know that?”

“I don’t know, because you’re the one who has a fucking body, Johnny!”

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and sighs, “Listen. I got back,” he gestured towards his body, “I tried to get your body back but it was gone. Only a few things remained.”

“Like what?”

Johnny takes one last drag, dropping it to the cement of Kerry’s balcony and puts it out with his boot. He reaches under his shirt and pulls out V’s medallion. He doesn’t look at her when he shows her, he only looks at the necklace between his metal fingers. But he is hit with When she inhales sharply, he takes it as a cue, and he puts it back beneath his shirt.

“Anything else?” She asks.

He looks at her then, “Your jacket, my gun. Nothing else. It was as if you weren’t there at all,” he says, a regretful feeling washing over him and it’s hard to pinpoint who is feeling it stronger – V, or him. “Do you have any…”

“Clues?” She finishes his thought process and shakes her head. “No. I remember walking with you to the well, and once you went in it, everything went black. Don’t remember anything else, until now.”

The lingering memory of his dream is picking at the corners of his mind, but he pushes it away. Just as V isn’t used to being the construct, he’s not used to being the person in control. Barriers between the two of them need to be built up all over again if they were going to co-exist.

“Why, do you want to hide something from me?” She asks him, and he curses. V wears a grin on her face, and she glitches out of his vision, and once again glitches back in front of him. In fact, she is directly in front of him, her arms crossed, standing between him and the balcony. She’s painfully close, but not touching.

They never touched each other before, other than when they said goodbye in cyberspace, and he was certain they wouldn’t start now.

“We need to try to figure this out,” He says, looking over her, trying to push down the feeling in his throat to have her so close to him again, and yet unable to touch, to hold, to do what he so desperately wanted. If this was a thought that went over to her, she doesn’t show it, as she looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe you need to go to Vik. He figured out you were in my head before, maybe he can help now.”

“Seriously? You understand your Ripper fuckin’ hates me, right?”

“Yeah, and? Who doesn’t hate you, Silverhand? Just do it for me, okay?” She glitches out fully then, and he’s left alone, realizing how strange it felt that she just glitched out of his sight, just as he had done to her so many times over the year.

But it was how she said _Silverhand_ that struck him, calling back to the dream he had, but her tone wasn’t the same as the woman in his dream. His brain was undoubtably playing tricks on him, he was certain.

He lit another cigarette, as he went over his options. Eventually, through his third cigarette, he heard Kerry’s voice behind him, “Shit, smokin’ like a log cabin, the fuck happened?”

“Got a problem,” Johnny replied, finishing up the cigarette and putting it out. He blew the smoke out over the balcony and turned towards Kerry. He tapped his temple, “Got a big problem.”

It took a moment for Kerry to register, the hangover still clear, painted in Kerry’s eyes. He looked at Johnny with confusion, before the confusion registered into astonishment. “Seriously? She’s…”

“Yeah,” Johnny says, and rubs at his head, “I gotta head out. Get some shit done, chase some leads.” _Chase some leads?_ Why the fuck did he say _that_? He shook off the thought, “I’ll come back eventually.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kerry waves off, as he wanders away from the balcony. Johnny walks back in, grabs V’s jacket and his gun, and heads out.

***

She appears in the passenger seat next to him in the Porsche as he starts up the car. “So I gotta say, I didn’t really understand why you would glitch away, but I get it now. Dramatic effect,” She says, grinning as she sits cross-legged in the car.

“What I’m trying to understand is why…”

“…I’m here? Not sure. Like I said, everything went black when you left. Alt didn’t tell you anything?”

His mind went back to when he woke up, playing the memories without thinking that V could see it, and she sighs. “So, Alt gave you nothing. Got it. What did you see in her again?”

“Other than the mind-blowing sex?”

V scoffs, and he feels a small wave of what feels like jealous pool out from her, and he smirks. “Just seems like a waste of time, if you ask me.”

He shrugs, pulling off of Kerry’s driveway, and down the street. “She helped us.”

“Did she? Because now instead of being in my own body, I’m an engram in your fucking head. Which, oh my god, can you stop thinking about sex?”

He laughed, “Nope.”

“I hate you.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” she groans, “This is…”

“Not what we wanted,” He finishes for her, “I know.”

He’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to that, the ability of finishing each other’s sentences, reading each other’s minds so easily as if it were their own. He learned to hide some things from her at the end, though the stronger emotions found a way to escape. Then, it hits him. “V, you’re gonna have to learn to control your thoughts.”

She shifts in the seat, turning her head to face him, “Meaning?”

“You can’t let your emotions overwhelm you, because everything you feel, I feel.”

She laughs, hard. It’s the type of full laugh that he loves from her, the type of laugh that is just fucking music to his ears. “Oh, like how you kept your emotions from me? Johnny, you can’t be serious.”

“I am. Because I don’t know how to be in this situation, I haven’t been in my own body for 50 years, V.”

“Let me just tell you, it doesn’t matter how many years you have your body, you never get used to someone taking over your every thought.” She sighs, as he pulls into a familiar area. He can hear her thoughts, she knows they’re going to see Vik and Misty, and she’s getting anxious.

He pulls the car over and turns of the engine, turning to look at her, but she’s gone.

Johnny sighs heavily, and exits the car, ignoring the looks he’s getting and the whispers he’s hearing. Before, he would have been glad to hear the whispers, the excitement of _Is that Johnny Silverhand?_ as he walked by. But now? Things have changed, holy _fuck_ have they changed, and he’s not navigating any of this correctly. Not that there is a correct way to navigate any of this.

When he walks into Misty’s, the familiar chime of the door that he heard every time V walked through, Misty doesn’t turn around at first. He goes the polite route, stands at her counter, and rings the little bell sitting there, asking for her attention.

When she turns around, and looks at him, her hand moves to her mouth. “Oh, oh _no_ ,” she says quietly, bypassing the counter completely, and walking over to him, taking his metal hand in hers. “IF you’re here,” she says, no need for her to ask who he is, “then she’s gone, isn’t she?”

The sadness in her voice, heavy with something else he can’t pick up, gives him discomfort. He takes his hand back from her, and clears his throat, “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” She asks, moving her hand to her chakra necklace.

Johnny doesn’t want to lie to Misty, the one person other than Vik who had tried to help V at her lowest, when the goal was to originally get him out of her head. “It’s a long story, but I’m here and she’s…” he taps his forehead and Misty gasps.

“You need to see Vik, right away.”

“ ‘s why I’m here, Misty,” but his words die on her ears as she’s pulling him by the arm through her shop and down to Vik’s clinic.

The ripperdoc is alone when Misty pulls the gate back, “Vik, this is—”

The ripper is across the room in a flash, and his fist is in Johnny’s face so hard that it knocks him on his ass and to the floor. He can feel blood coming out of his nose, and Johnny just sighs and lets his head fall against the concrete floor on the ground.

“Motherfucker, where’s V?” Vik spits on him, his hands in fists ready to strike again.

Johnny sighs and pushes up on his elbows, as he just taps his head.

Vik narrows his eyes, and looks to Misty, who just nervously nods.

Begrudgingly, Vik holds out his hand for Johnny to take, and Johnny takes it, pulling himself to his feet. Vik shoves him violently towards his chair, and Johnny holds out his hands in a placating manner, “Yeah, I get it. I’m here because of her, asshole.”

Before it can come to blows again, Misty is between the two of them. “Just help, okay, Viktor?” She says softly, her hand on the older man’s shoulder.

He grumbles and gestures for Johnny to get in the chair, and he does. He takes the cord from Vik and jacks in, so Vik can get a full scan.

As Vik goes through the scan, Johnny looks in front of him to see V glitching in. She wanders around the basement clinic, walks up to Misty and waves her hand in Misty’s face, though of course she doesn’t see it. “Huh. This is weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Johnny replies to her, “Now you have to live with everyone ignoring you. How are you going to survive?”

“Same way you did,” V says with a grin, walking over to look over Vik’s shoulder, “By annoying the fuck out of you.”

Vik clears his throat, “Are you talking with V right now?” He looks to Johnny, and then turns the screen, showing his brain lighting up with activity.

Johnny sighs, “Yeah.”

Vik furrows his eyebrows, and turns the screen again, “Alright so it looks like this situation is different from before. You have your body, full control if you want it, she’s not overriding you.”

“Meaning?” Johnny asks, but V asks it at the same time. Their voices blend, and Johnny isn’t 100% confident that his voice covered up V’s tone.

“She can’t take over, like you could for her. She’s just…a passenger.” Vik takes off his glasses and puts them into the neck of his shirt, “Where’s her body?”

“That’s complicated.”

“Fuck sake, either you know, or you don’t!” Vik raises his voice again, and Johnny sees V biting her lip. He feels the wave of her nervousness again, her worry.

“Taken from Arasaka Tower. I don’t know where it is. It’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Better figure it out fast,” Vik replies, as he puts his hand out for the cord, as Johnny unjacks.

“Let me guess, I’m dyin’?” He replies, almost hiding his distain. Almost.

But V is shaking her head, and she’s hugging herself, “No Johnny,” she says quietly. “Not you.”

Vik sighs, “Not you, kid. She’s dying all over again. Since her engram isn’t trying to take over your body, she’s stuck without a home. The longer she’s stuck as data, the sooner she’ll just…fuck, she’s gonna disappear.”

Johnny steels his expression, eyes hiding behind his shades, but he can’t hide his feeling of remorse and guilt as he watches V glitch out of his vision. Once again, he’s the parasite stealing V’s life away.

***

After finishing up at Vik’s, they head back to V’s place. It’s easier to talk there than to talk at Kerry’s; despite him sort of understanding what was going on, they’d need privacy to talk things out. And Johnny wasn’t too keen to be looking insane in front of one of his oldest friends.

“Oh, so _me_ looking insane was okay?” V asks, flickering into view, sitting on the edge of her bed. She runs a hand through her hair, “Kind of hypocritical of you, Johnny.”

He moves to lean against the window, but faces her, “I’m just trying to figure things out, V.”

“Are you? Because all we have is ‘oh look, V is dying.’ _Again_.” She throws her hands up, and frowns when her hand phases through the top of her bed. “I miss being able to touch stuff,” she says, not directed towards him but to him all the same.

“Yeah,” he says, “You get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” she replies quietly, and wrings her hands together.

Worry crosses over him, wanting to reach out to her in comfort, being able to take her hand and tell her that they’re going to get through this, but he knows he can’t touch her. Because she couldn’t touch him as an engram, and fuck, if it didn’t kill him slowly from the inside.

But this time, there were no Omega Blockers. There were no other pills, because she wasn’t able to take control of him. It was just a man talking to the attractive woman in his head, and thanking the stars that he wasn’t alone.

She shifts on the bed, her eyes diverting from him, and he sees her face twist in a way that she’s trying to hide something. He realizes that she may have just read that thought, and he sighs before laughing awkwardly. “Fuck, V, we need to stop being in these situations.”

“Tell me about it, I mean I got used to your constant stream of horny thoughts in your head, but it’s different now,” She says with a laugh, and it looks like a blush to her cheeks. He can’t tell if it’s his mind doing that or not, but he’s past trying to figure that out. V stopped thinking so hard about it with him, he’d have to stop thinking about it so hard with her. “Everything seems to be coming off stronger from you.”

“Think it’s because I’m not actually hiding anything,” He replies too quickly to his liking, as he sits down on the couch.

“Might want to crash here tonight,” she says, changing the subject. He watches as she stretches out on the bed as she used to, and he watches mesmerized. He fights off the building feeling he ignored for a better part of a year and shifts into a position on the couch.

“Good idea,” He says, putting his arms behind his head, stretching his legs out on the couch.

The silence between them is oddly uncomfortable, reminiscent of their early days, not at all familiar to the later days. “Johnny?” She asks, and he turns to look at her.

“Hmm?”

“Promise me we’re going to figure this out.”

“I promise. We’ll get you back. No matter the cost.”

She offers him a half smile, but he feels that she isn’t exactly comforted at his words, as soon she glitches out of his view and leaves him alone in her apartment that smells of her.

He sighs and closes his eyes.

Before too long, a woman in a sharp looking suit comes knocking on his door.


	4. Chapter 4

The knock is once soft, twice hard, and Silverhand plucks his cigarette from his lips and puts it out in the tray as he stands from his desk.

“What do you fuckin’ want?” He calls out, taking his gun out of his holster, approaching the door slowly. If it’s one of Arasaka’s goons, he’s ready to take them out. They’ve been hunting him for far too long, and one of these days, they’re gonna come to take his ticket.

“Mr. Silverhand,” Comes the voice, “ _Johnny_ , it’s me.” The soft smooth silk of Veronica Fox’s voice comes through the door, and he opens it up.

She stands at the door, her hand on her hip, her other hand in her suit jacket pocket. She’s dressed like a high-end mafia boss, form fitting black suit with blue accents, bringing out the color of her eyes. Once again, she looks to kill, and her looks could kill if she wanted them to. A black widow, walking into his office, dangerous and seductive.

He wonders what the web is that she’ll weave, and if he’ll go along with it.

“Wasn’t expecting you, Ms. Fox,” He says, holstering his gun once more, and shutting the door after her.

Her heels click against the tiles of his office, as her fingers trace his walls, and then his desk. “Hmm. I could tell by the way you were fixing to shoot me.” She looks at him over her shoulder with a smirk, before she decides to sit at the edge of his desk and take up residence there.

She leans back on her hands, crossing one leg over the other. “I told you I’d contact you,” she continues, “Consider this a contact.”

Silverhand places his hands in his pockets, walking towards her and taking a seat on the chair in front of his desk. In view of her long legs over his desk, and in this position, she looks like she has all the power over him. That if she chose to, in the moment, she could just devour him whole.

Women like her were dangerous. Exactly his type.

“Have information to share, or are you here to just pose on my desk?” He asks, doing his best to look disinterested, though his body is certainly not helping in that regard.

Her voice reminds him of someone he lost, of someone who haunts his every waking moment, and as much as he wants to remain indifferent, he can’t. There’s just something about this dame.

“I deal in information, Mr. Silverhand,” She says, as she uncrosses her legs, and she places her high heel on the edge of the arm of his chair. “And it would be wise for you to listen to me.”

His eyes dart to her foot, and then back to her, “Never said I wasn’t listening, doll.”

She laughs, the type of dark laugh that hides over motives. “There’s a meeting tonight, in Kabuki Market. A man, goes by the name of Ward, has information on the whereabouts of my missing item.”

“Your heart,” Silverhand clarifies with an eyebrow raise.

“Yes. He’s a leader of corrupt officers, I’ve had my share of dealings with him from time to time.” Her hand comes to rest on her knee, her fingernails tapping into the fabric of her pants. “Tonight, he’s moving merchandise, and rumor has it, one of those containers has my stolen item.”

“Is it missing? Or stolen?” He asks, “Because they mean two different things.”

Veronica drops her leg from his chair, and she stands up and walks to stand directly in front of him. Both of her hands rest on the arms of the chair, her fingers delicately missing brushing against his own. She leans into him then; her lips close enough that he could… “If you can’t tell the difference, why does it matter?” She questions.

“Because I’m not chasin’ some missed love connection. You want to deal with revenge? Call Vector.”

Her laugh is short but darker than he expects, “But _you_ deal in revenge, Silverhand,” she replies, “I know about the assault on the tower. Running in to save a lover, to only end up empty handed and lost.” She moves a hand and presses two fingers into his chest, right at his heart, “Are you sure yours is still there? Should we be looking for it too?”

He narrows his eyes and before he can push her away, she’s standing up and smirking at him, like the cat who caught the canary. “Besides,” she continues, as she pushes her jacket to the side, and pulls out her Overture pistol, “I hired you. And I expect to get my money’s worth.”

She starts to walk away from him, and he pushes out of the chair, “When did you say this meeting was?”

“In an hour, honey,” Veronica replies, waiting at the door, “So, are you coming?”

He grabs his gun and hat and sets out towards the door. “Lead the way.”

They make it to Kabuki Market in record time, his office only miles away from the main entrance. It’s a bustle of black-market deals and joytoys walking the street for money. He’s known in these parts, but those who know him know to stay away when he’s out this late at night. Being with him is trouble.

But being with Veronica, he realizes, might be more trouble. She hides her eyes behind a set of aviator sunglasses that she claims was a gift from a lost love and says it with such longing in her voice that he almost wishes he was the lucky fella. But any guy that would leave her wasn’t worth their life in his eyes.

You just didn’t leave a woman like that alone. It wasn’t right.

When they get to the meeting spot, they duck into the alley and behind some crates to stay out of sight. “At the first sign of trouble,” He tells her, “I’ll handle it. Stay here and stay safe.” There’s a reason he works alone.

It haunts him, the partner he lost, the life he’ll never get back, the debt he will never be able to repay.

Most folks would pay heed to his warning and agree to stay down. But Veronica just scoffs, as she loads her gun, “I’m not a damsel in distress, Mr. Silverhand, don’t paint me as one.”

“I said don’t call me—” He starts, but her hand goes over his mouth and her lips go to his ear.

“Shut up and watch,” she whispers, and he swallows hard, forcing his brain to switch the focus to the meet at hand.

The man Veronica spoke of, Ward, is a large man in an absurd jacket. He boasts loudly about the merchandise, and when he’s done speaking with his cohorts, Silverhand decides to step out of the alley.

“Ward, need to speak to you about some information,” he starts, making a show of the gun at his hip.

The corrupt badge looks him up and down and scoffs, “Johnny Silverhand, still pretending to be a private investigator? Couldn’t get the world to fall at your feet, so you tried another way.” Ward is sneering, almost happy with himself. “Pathetic.”

“Don’t speak like you are better than him,” Comes Veronica’s voice, a tone of warning, threatening almost. “You are nothing more than corruption in a shitty coat.”

“Didn’t think that when you were fucking me,” Ward replies, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Silverhand glares at Veronica. Of course, the gonk was a past lover. Why did he think otherwise?

But Veronica doesn’t seem disturbed by it, in fact she _laughs_. The type of laugh that makes others uneasy when it’s heard, the type that strikes fear into the hearts of unsuspecting men. She doesn’t make a show of her gun, but proves that it’s there, and it’s then that he realizes she’s removed her suit jacket. Chrome lines her arms in familiar ways, and there is a tattoo on her inner arm that he can’t make out. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking of you at all. Was thinking of anything else to get me there, since you _couldn’t._ ”

Ward’s cohorts hoot and holler behind him, and the man has finally had enough, “Get them!”

“Oh, what’s wrong, baby, don’t want to talk?” Veronica taunts back, and the reason she took her jacket off appears. Her mantis blades are activated, and like a blur she’s in the air and running towards Ward, as his two chooms are shooting at Silverhand.

Three against two doesn’t seem so bad, but when more of Ward’s allies come out of the woodwork in Kabuki, Silverhand starts to question his association with the mysterious Veronica. He takes down the first two men and gets to Veronica’s side where Ward and her are fighting it out, fist to blades. Silverhand covers her back, zeroing those who dare come near them with single shots through the head, reloading his pistol with flourish.

Then he hears it, he hears Ward’s body drop to the ground, and turns to see V with her heel on his neck, electric mantis blades still out and ready for a killing blow. “Tell me what I need to know, and I’ll let you go,” she says calmly.

“It’s not here!” He says, “I swear!”

Silverhand walks up to Veronica, training his gun on Ward, while Veronica digs her foot in a little more. “Swear _harder_ ,” she coos sweetly.

And fuck, if Silverhand isn’t feeling a little hot and hard under the collar right now.

“Check my shard, just let me go!” Ward reaches into his jacket, and Silverhand moves his gun to aim towards Ward’s lower extremities.

“Best not be lying to the lady,” He replies, and Ward’s hand pulls out a shard from his jacket. Veronica leans down to get it and snatches it out of his hands. She inserts the shard, reads the information, and then pockets it.

“This is the last time I see your face in this city,” She says, releasing her foot off of his neck, “And if I hear anything that tells me you have not _left_ Night City, I will _zero_ you.” Her voice turns from cruel to seductive in a turn of a hat, “Do I make myself clear, Ward?”

He scrambles to his feet, nodding quickly and running out of alley and into the busy market, leaving only Silverhand and Veronica with the dead bodies.

Holstering his weapon, he looked her over, “What did his information tell you?”

Veronica started walking down the alley, her blades retreating into her arms, as she reached where she had discarded her jacket. She pulled it back on, took the shard out of her pants pocket. “Information valuable to someone to help our cause.”

He furrowed his brow at this, “You hired me to help you find your missing heart, to only give the information we have to someone _else_?”

“I have what I need, Johnny,” She replies calmly, and gestures with her hand for him to follow her.

He does, as she takes the turn out of the alley and back into the market. She weaves in and out of the other tourists and folks trying to make a living in the depths of Night City, until she comes to a warehouse door under some stairs. She opens a code panel and types in the numbers and goes inside.

He follows her, the warehouse door shutting behind them and locking, and as he walks in, he sees what looks to be a small living area. Couches, large screens, musical instruments in the corner. Netrunner chair, terminals.

Veronica carefully walks over to a chest, and opens it, and puts the shard inside.

“What is our next move?” He asks, “Or are we chasin’ after another jilted lover of yours?”

“Why?” She asks, the chest now closed and locked. She saunters over to him, just as she had sauntered away from him that first night. “Jealous?”

Her hands caress his tie, twisting it between her fingers, before using the momentum to push him against the wall. Suddenly, she’s crowding him, pressing her body against his. He tries to clear his head, to ignore the growing need she pulls so expertly from him.

“I think every man in Night City would be jealous of anyone spending a night with you,” He says, allowing his hands to run down her sides. She moves in closer to him, grinding against him with a grin.

The seductress snakes her hands up his chest, until her hands are at his neck, “I don’t care about every man,” She replies, her lips to his ear.

She’s whispering something to him, something important, but he can’t make out the words. Then her whisper stops, and her lips are on his in a burning kiss.

And like that, she’s gone, and the only thing that is left is the ghost of her kiss and the unmistakable tightness of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA that if it reads cheesy and pulpy, just remember whose weird dream state it is ;)
> 
> Also nothing against River, just in my head...Johnny isn't too keen on him, for a variety of reasons.


	5. Chapter 5

Johnny’s eyes open slowly, putting his hand to his mouth to the touch of the strange unmistakable feeling of kiss-swollen lips. He clears his throat to try to figure out what happened, eyes adjusting to the surroundings.

V is leaning against the window, her eyes closed as if she’s trying to catch some sun. He knows from experience that’s a lost effort, so he gets up and stands next to her knowing the sun on his skin will warm her in time.

When the warmth finally hits her, she smiles and opens her eyes. “There you are!” She says, “Was thinking you’d never wake up. What now?”

He ignores the way he wants to grab and kiss her, as if something from his dream was trying to come through. But whatever the dream had been was disappearing quickly. “Kabuki Market. Want to check out something.”

“Yeah? What is it?” V asks, glitching from the window, to the door. He can tell she takes a little joy in being able to glitch in and out of places, and he figures she’s taking the joy where she can get it. “You’re right, I am.” She says, rolling her eyes. “Keep forgetting I can read your thoughts?”

He pauses. “Could you see my dreams?”

“Hmm?”

“Used to be able to see your dreams when I was in your head,” He says, though he realizes a little too late that admitting that may have had unforeseen circumstances. Admitting to seeing dreams was one thing, but not admitting what he saw her fantasies were about where he was concerned was another.

The thought is there and pushing towards her before he can catch it, and he tries to cover. Clearing his throat, “Curious if you could see mine.”

V quickly shakes her head, rubbing at the back of her neck and looking away, “Nope. I tried to. You seemed to be worried in your sleep, I…well, I tried but I couldn’t get in.”

Now _that_ was interesting, and curious.

Silence settles between as he gets ready for the day and they aim to head out. It’s once they’re in the Porsche that she pops back in. “Are you alright? I mean, you were tossing and turning a lot…”

“Whatever happened to you and River?” He asks, deflecting, though not to a safer topic. Maybe a more dangerous one.

It’s something that he knows that he _should_ know, and deep down he does. He feels V looking at him curiously, “Broke it off with him. Didn’t feel right. Why?” She shrugs, and he doesn’t hide his smirk. “What’s so funny?” She asks, and he feels her curiosity poking him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, and turns the music up.

***

Like it was being pulled out of his dream, Johnny stood in front of the warehouse door in Kabuki Market. His eyes moved to the panel, but he didn’t know the code. Punching in any numbers didn’t work; a wave of frustration came over him.

Why he was chasing a weird lead from his dream of all damn things, he wasn’t sure. But something told him didn’t have any other options.

“Johnny, what are you doing?” V glitched into his view, leaning on the wall next to the code box. She rested her foot against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He snaped back, “I’m trying to get in.”

“Um. To…my private storage?” She questioned, as he tore his attention from the code box to her. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, the emotion coming off of her in waves. “Jackie and I found it, and once we set it up the way we wanted, I set a lock on it. Guess I haven’t been back here with you, huh?”

“You have a private storage…in the middle of Kabuki…?”

“It’s not in the _middle_ , it’s to the side!”

He sighed, “Woman, you’re fucking impossible...” But only, that _wasn’t_ said in his head to V, as he meant to. The scoff of a joytoy walking by, tipped him off.

“Fucking _excuse_ me? Who the fuck are _you?_ ” The woman looks him over and scoffs, flipping him off as she walks up the stairs and past him.

V is laughing loud and hard, throwing her head back and just losing it. “ _Oh, gee Johnny_ , you don’t have to speak out loud to talk to me, you remember that right?” she says and dammit despite how smug she sounds, he doesn’t mind it. Only because she seems so damned pleased with herself.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and gestures to the door. Changing to speaking in his head, “Code?”

“65275131.”

The numbers punched in, the door started to slide open, and Johnny ducked inside under the door. V glitched on ahead of him, and he shut and locked the door after them. “What’s the significance to that number?”

“My name, in numerology,” she says, a tone of bashfulness to her voice, as she looks around the room.

“The code to your super-secret hideout, is your fuckin’ name? V. Come on. Smartest merc in Night City.”

She grumbles something he doesn’t hear; she leads the way into the room, him following along.

And it looks exactly how it did in his dream, despite never being here before. The desk in the corner, the netrunner chair. The large couch, table in front of it. Everything, every last detail, is the same.

His eyes scan the wall where the woman in black and blue pushed him against the wall, whispering words into his ears he couldn’t remember.

“Have you been here before?” V asks, and he can’t quite read her tone, but she seems a little…agitated. Frustrated. “I didn’t think you’ve been here…”

“No,” He quickly shakes his head, “Just…seems familiar.” A pause. “And fuckin’ weird that you have a high-tech storage that you never fuckin’ told me about maybe?”

He waits to see if she takes the bait, if it clears her mind of what he was thinking before, because it feels almost…like a betrayal almost. His dreams, playing tricks on him like this, when once again they were working to the old goal: get her body back, get themselves disconnected.

Like the worst thing in the world would be that they would choose to be stuck with each other after everything is resolved.

V huffs, “Oh fuck off, Johnny and tell me what we’re here for so we can leave.”

Relieved she takes the bait, but he doesn’t express it, “Yeah, give me a fuckin’ second, alright?”

He knows what he’s looking for, and while V is sitting on the couch, he finds it. A little chest, that he’s able to unlock easily; the key sitting right on top of it.

“Where did that come from?” V’s voice is in his ear suddenly, looking over his shoulder as he pulls out the shard. He jumps a little at how her voice, so smooth and low, almost tricks his body into thinking he’s somewhere else in a far different situation than where they are now.

He doesn’t answer her, he only puts the shard in and reads the information. Knowing that she’ll see it as well. “Coordinates,” he says, confused.

“But to where?”

“Might as well find out,” he replies, as he closes the chest and replaces the key. She’s confused about the chest, how it’s gotten there. She doesn’t recognize it; he can tell by how she looks at it. He can tell by the thoughts going through her head.

“Lead the way, Silverhand,” She says, and when he looks at her, she’s in a completely different outfit. The slim fit black and blue suit the woman wore in his dreams, with a shine in her eyes.

He looks at her with his jaw slightly open, and she looks at him confused. “What’s wrong?”

And suddenly she’s wearing what she wore before when they stormed the tower, looking at him with concern.

“Nothing, come on,” he scoffs, and wonders just how much of his mind he might be losing.

***

They reach the coordinates, but V suggests he get to a higher vantage point so they can scope it out. City Center isn’t exactly where they want to be, Corpo Plaza isn’t at _all_ where they want to be. The coordinates have led them exactly there, to a location that looks to be under guard by NCPD.

He uses the scope of her sniper rifle to zoom in, and sees a cop speaking to a Corpo. Familiar colors.

“Preem,” She says, taking a seat at the edge of the roof, her hands holding on to the sides, “NCPD _and_ Arasaka. Totally didn’t see _that one_ coming at all.” Her words are dripping with sarcasm, and he smirks at it.

He sets the gun back down, “Gotta say, looks like you’re a hot ticket item, V.”

She snorts, “Yeah, okay. I didn’t even take the tower down, it was _you_. Both times! Can’t they leave me alone?”

“Not while they know you have the relic,” He points out, and she sighs heavily.

“I hate when you’re right.”

“You just hate that you’re always wrong.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are.”

“Are not!”

“Are t—the fuck are we doing? Stop!” He growls at her, but her laughter is so joyful that he can’t keep his scowl on his face. He just rolls his eyes and feigns annoyance. He turns his attention back to the building under armed guard, scanning for any other details he might have missed.

V glitches to his side, sitting on the upper ledge of the roof, her back to him as she looks at the building. “So how did you know what to look for in my _super-secret storage_ anyway?”

“A friend,” He lies, and when he feels a sting in his heart, he realizes V doesn’t believe him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Somehow, despite our best efforts, you have your body back and _I_ am currently stuck inside your head. _Try me_.”

He sighs heavily, “A dream.”

When she bursts into deep laughter, he just stares at her, and her reaction changes. “Oh fuck, you’re actually serious. Really?”

He rolls his eyes, starting to make his way off the roof. V is following in front of him, glitching to be around him as he makes his way down. “What are your dreams about? Are they _sexy_ dreams? Are you living out your life fantasy of finally being a musician people give a fuck about? Oh! I know! You’ve dreamed of giving up the good life and decided to become an investigator! Complete with shitty offices and _everything!_ I bet everything is smokey and mysterious.”

His feet hit the ground and he is staring at her with a raised eyebrow. She claps her hands. “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Oh my god, I’m right on one of those! _Which is it!?”_

“Fuck off, V.”

“Come on, don’t be an ass, I’m trying to help!”

“Tryin’ to be annoying.”

“And it’s working, so just fucking tell me.”

“ _No_ ,” he replies and gets back in the Porsche.

V appears next to him as he starts up the car and pulls away from the alley he’s parked in, “For the record, I was thinking about when you narrated me following Pepe’s wife, seems you have a hard-on for amusing shit like that.” But when she speaks, while her words are one thing, her meaning is different. She seems somehow _sad_ that he wasn’t amused at her connection. That she was just trying to have a little fun, to distract herself from all of this.

Which was something new. Or maybe it was just a repeat of how he used to be around her. And a wave of guilt comes over him, as he narrows his eyebrows and focuses on the road.

If she’s picking up what he’s thinking, she doesn’t comment on it, and he doesn’t say anything else for the car ride back to her apartment. Eventually, when the silence seems to be too much, she just glitches away.

He doesn’t see her or speak to her for the rest of the night. As always, he ignores the sinking feeling in his chest, the sharp pain twisting that he can’t get rid of and tries to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Altiera greets him at the door, as she always does, but she has a different look on her face this time. “Sorry, Silverhand,” she sighs, “But we’re closed.”

“For?” He asks, his eyebrow raising over his shades.

“Rehearsals. Ms. Fox wants to go over new songs, and no one is ever allowed in to disturb her.” Altiera moves from behind her booth, her hand touching his chest, moving its way down, “But if you want to pass the time with me…”

He gently takes her hand by the wrist and moves it, “Told you before, not here for you, doll.”

Altiera sighs and steps away, her sweet exterior turning more frustrated, “Then I told you, we’re closed.”

The curtain behind Altiera slides open, and Rogue pops her head out, grinning. “Thought I heard your voice.” She looks to Altiera and rolls her eyes, “There a reason you’re not letting him go in?”

“Veronica said—”

“—oh, _fuck_ what Veronica said, I own this joint. Let the fool in.” Rogue put her hand on Silverhand’s shoulder and brought him behind the curtain and into the club. It was empty, sans for those who were working, getting ready to open later that night.

On the stage, Eurodyne was sitting behind the piano, working out some chords. Veronica was singing softly to herself, wandering the stage, bare feet on the floor rather than heels. Every now and then, she’d ask Eurodyne for a different note, he’d supply, and she’d start singing some different tune.

“Reason you’re here?” Rogue asks, as Silverhand shrugs off his jacket and lets it hang over a nearby chair.

“Need to talk to Veronica,” He says, gesturing to the stage.

“Hmm,” She says, “Alright, she’ll notice you when she notices you. Don’t fuck this up.” The last words are said with a serious look from Rogue, and the words seem so familiar. Like something said to him long ago that he can’t quite remember, can’t quite reach.

He walks up to the stage, taking a cigarette out of his silver case. Put between his lips and lit, he wanders up to the edge, and takes down a chair from one of the tables. He sits down, taking a drag from the cigarette, and watches the stage.

She hasn’t noticed him yet, but Eurodyne has. “Veronica, how about the new one?”

“Sure, honey,” She says. Her back is to the audience, her hand resting on the piano. She takes a drink from the glass sitting on top of it and sets it down. Eurodyne plays the intro a few times before she finally decides to sing.

When she turns around to look to the empty club, that’s when she notices Silverhand. The expression on her face changes, from almost unreadable, to amusement. A smirk plays on her lips, as she starts the song. Singing of a lover who tries to hide their intentions, she sways to the slow piano music.

The way she moves around the stage, he’s captivated. The call of someone who knows her craft and knows how to use it. How she sings, there is unmistakable sadness behind her voice hidden behind her serene expression. The words come out slow but powerful, as she moves from the front of the piano, to the edge of the stage.

The songstress sits down, one leg crossed over the other. She gestures to Silverhand then, beckoning him to her and like a fool he gets up and goes to her. He leans against the stage as she takes the cigarette out of his mouth and takes a drag, handing it back to him as she slowly lets the smoke out.

Veronica drapes her arm around his shoulder, continuing the tale of the lovers miscommunicating. She trails her fingers up his neck, curling around his chin to tilt his head towards her. She leans forward and sings out the rest of the verse as sweet whispers to him, her fingers curling around his tie as she had done the last time he saw her.

Soon she releases his tie, and she stands back up, finishing out the rest of the song with more desperation behind her tone. By the time the song ends, she reaches the piano where she had started. Her hand is on her drink once more.

The music dies out, the only thing left is the hum of the lights and chatter of the other employees going through their business. Eurodyne takes it as his cue to leave, “Good job, Fox, you’ll kill it tonight.”

She waves her hand in a dismissal, but there is a smile that plays on her lips.

“Big set tonight?” Silverhand finally asks, fixing his tie.

“Could say that,” She replies, and with a finger gestures for him to come and join her. “Come here,” she says, moving to sit at the piano, “Do you play?”

He gets up on the stage and takes his hat off. He leaves it on the piano next to her drink. “Not piano, no.”

“Shame, you have the hands for it. But I wonder if you use those fingers to play something far more _personal_?” She’s grinning as she says it, as her fingers find the keys. She plays the song she was singing when he first met her.

He watches her dance along the keys, the familiar tune acting as a knife trying to dig his secrets out of his skin. “Got your message,” he says, voice cutting over the music. He moves to sit next to her on the bench. “Something else?”

“Hmm,” She says, swaying to the tune, before she stops playing. Veronica places her hand on his thigh, as she leans in, “It’s so close, I can feel it.”

“Your heart?” He asks, the question sounding so absurd from his lips. His eyes dart to her hand on his thigh, but he makes no effort to move it.

“Yes.”

“You never told me why we went through that trouble to get the information from your ex, only for you to give it to someone else.”

“Because the information was never for _us_ , it was for _him_.”

Silverhand raises an eyebrow, “Him? And who is he, exactly?”

“Someone I’m trying to help out, help him unravel something.” Her hand leaves his thigh as she goes back to the piano keys, playing once more. “Not sure someone like you can understand what it’s like to regain something so personal. I’m trying to help him do the same.”

“So, your pal, he got something missing?”

Veronica smirks, “In a way. More that he hasn’t realized what he’s missing.”

He scoffs, “Seems like a waste of time.”

“To some, yes. To me, it’s important. Helping someone, it’s never a waste of time. Don’t you agree?” When he doesn’t reply, she continues after a long pause, “Most of the songs I sing, are for him.”

“Are they?” He asks, as he fishes another cigarette out of the case. Veronica steals it from him, her fingers lingering on his, and she puts it between her blood red lips. He offers her a light, watching as she inhales, and leans back, the smoke slowly leaving the space between her lips.

“Mmhm,” She replies, as he lights his own cigarette. “He was a songwriter, musician, _passionate_. Then he started to lose himself in a never-ending war, and that was _it_ for who he was. Angry souls are hard to soften,” She says, “Rough around the edges, gritty. Nothing you do or say can change their minds.”

He raises an eyebrow, the dame getting too close to his own personal experiences. He doesn’t like it, but he presses, “So you tried to fix him?”

She laughs, but there’s no heart behind it. It’s more of a burst of air, coming through her nose, and it sounds bitter, “Tried to join him. And I lost myself within him too. A man like that, there’s nothing to fix. Only desire is to get in the passenger seat and join for the ride.”

“Are you singing the new song tonight? That his?”

“No,” She shakes her head, “Not his song, but an incredibly old one written by someone else. I’ll sing another of his tonight, I’ll sing the same one I always sing. Hope one day, he may hear it. Wherever he is.”

He’s not sure why he’s entertaining this conversation. He came to talk about the job, about the search for her missing ‘heart’, and this was getting them nowhere. Yet, there is nothing but jealousy that is curling up and taking nest in his throat. How she seems so lovesick and longing for a man that clearly did not deserve or see what beauty was right in front of him, letting it fade away from his grasp. 

“Have you ever been in love, Mr. Silverhand?”

The question blindsides him like a punch to the face, short circuiting his brain, catching him off guard. “Sure, doll, haven’t we all?” He replies, non-committal.

Her eyes look at him as if she wants to burn through him, to touch him and swallow him whole. That nothing would satisfy her until he has given into every single word she is about to passionately say. “ _No,”_ She shakes her head, taking another drag of her cigarette. She sighs, shoulders rising and falling, as if she’s ready to reminisce on what she had lost, “I mean the all-consuming love. The type of feeling that burns you from the inside out, threating to destroy you if you don’t acknowledge it. The type of feeling that leaves you breathless and frustrated for all different reasons. The type of feeling that if it’s ripped away, you’ll die without it. The love that _fucks you_ hard, the pain resonating for days after, and you are counting down the _seconds_ until you can feel that way again. _That_ type of love,” she says. “Have you felt that?” 

His throat feels dry, her words resonating with him. Dig deep into the hidden depths of memories and desire that he holds under lock and key, never to be revealed.

The way she looks at him sparks a stray feeling of want, of hope. The knot threatening to be unraveled, all from a simple pull of the thread by her delicate fingers.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, as he stands from the piano bench, “No, Ms. Fox,” He lies, “Can’t say that I have.” The cigarette hands from his lips as he collects his hat, and secures it upon his head. Mentally starting to build the layers of a wall brick by brick once more.

“That’s a shame, Mr. Silverhand,” She replies, as she stands. Walking over to him, her hand rests over his heart, “I hope you can allow yourself to one day. Until then,” she leans into him, and he without thinking wraps an arm around her waist. He holds her close to her, body reacting quickly to how she moved against him. He feels her lips to his ears once more, a whisper, “wake up.”

***

He wakes up with a jolt, sitting upright and immediately hitting his head on the wall. The swift motion continued, his body going with physics as he topped to the floor, landing face down. “Motherfucker,” He mutters into the ground, and briefly thinks that with some miracle, he might be alone.

But then he hears the start of snickering, and then it boils over into a full roar of laughter as V’s voice fills his ears and her apartment. She can’t get the words out; she’s laughing so hard. He can feel her waves of amusement pushing out from her. “Oh my god,” She wheezes, “Oh _wow_.”

Johnny rolls his eyes and pushes himself enough to just roll over on his back, and doesn’t look at her, only the ceiling. “Like you haven’t had fuckin’ worse.”

“Oh, I have. _Fuck_ , most of it was waking up shitty _because_ of you—”

“—are you ever going to let that go—”

“—but at least I didn’t have other body parts standing at full attention when I woke up,” she says, and her amusement has transferred into something else. The same feeling that he had in his dream, something he felt was coming off the dream woman.

He swallows it down. He clears his throat, grins and replies, “Why, V, like what you see? Can give you a show if you want…” he teases, as he pushes himself to get up and stand in front of her.

Her eyes scan him slowly, and he ignores just what her gaze is doing to him; realizing that whatever she is feeling, he is feeling tenfold, the two blending together. Remembering herself, she quickly looks away and out the window.

“Gonna shower,” he tells her, and she just waves behind her, not looking at him. Much better this way, thankful again that she seems to not be able to see whatever is going on his mind at night. He’d be more than thoroughly fucked, and not at all in the way he’d prefer.

“Yep, go do that. I’ll just be…over here. _Wow,_ what a sunny day! If only there were birds still, I’d--”

“V?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, Johnny?”

“Not now, V.”

“Okay I hear you but…”

“Not _now_ , for fuck sake.”

“Hey _asshole,_ your arm is on fire. Not that you give a fuck, though.”

They had traveled back into City Center, to get a finally look at the warehouse and see if they would be able to find a way to get in.

Which, had turned into Johnny fucking around a bit too much, pissing off the wrong people – which led to yet another fire fight. Just a typical thing in Night City, and typical for whatever the mess was that they usually got caught up in.

But the problem had been less about wandering into a gang fight, and more that the two of them had been bickering enough that it distracted Johnny to walk right into them.

He looked at his arm, and V had been right, there was a small fire on the jacket sleeve. He patted it out with his hand. What was left was a burn mark that most definitely wasn’t going away. “Fuckin’ sleeves.”

“Yeah, and it’s my _fucking jacket_ ,” V grumbled in his ear, glitching to look at the sleeve a bit.

Shrugging the jacket off, he rolled his eyes behind his shades before putting the jacket over his shoulder. “V, you realize this is just a damn replica of _my_ jacket, right? It’s too fuckin’ big on you.” When it was deemed that the gang members didn’t have anything interesting on them, Johnny double tapped them with his pistol and went along the way.

Of course, V was following along, still complaining. “Doesn’t mean you can fucking set it on fire!”

“I didn’t fuckin’ set it on fire!”

“Be more careful next time, asshole, I _like_ that jacket! I didn’t destroy any of your shit! Actually, I kept it all in pretty good shape!”

“Bitch more, and I’ll just fuck off and get drunk. I don’t have to fuckin’ help you.” Annoyed? Yes. Frustrated? Yes. Distracted from getting what they needed to get done? Also yes.

But the more that V kept pestering him about what he was doing, and _how_ he was doing it, the more he was less willing to do it in a proper pace. Not the healthiest relationship, but that not something he gave a fuck about.

Which was also a _fucking lie_. Cause he did give a fuck. Perhaps a little too much, his mind wandering too much these days. They hadn’t actually spoken much since his awkward wakeup call, and when they had, it was nothing but bickering. He would find his mind occupied with thoughts of his dreams, the woman in it disappearing more and more as he woke up, almost to the point that he couldn’t quite remember who she was.

Their bickering had started when V asked who the hot woman in the red dress was, and it went all downhill from there.

Now there was anger from both of them, but there was more coming from V. It felt like hurt, even jealousy, but he didn’t read into that, not when he was trying so hard to just focus on what needed to get done.

But as V flickered out of his view completely, leaving him alone, the more his anger at her turned into guilt for even feeling that way. He had been in a similar situation, watching her attempt a relationship with River, knowing she stopped before it went further than a kiss. He had never been more _relieved_ when that happened and acknowledging what that actually meant was a rabbit hole he couldn’t and wouldn’t go down.

Now that he could still feel V’s waves of jealousy, it was a reminder that she didn’t know how to hold back her feelings and thoughts from him as well as he had from her when their roles were reversed.

She was projecting every little thing she felt and thought, with no wall in between, and it was driving him crazy.

Once they were closer to the warehouse, he drove his car back up to the parking garage across from it. He left the jacket in the car and pulled out V’s sniper rifle, using the scope to watch the movement at the warehouse.

Patrol was done by what looked like NCPD, but something was off. He had seen enough cops to know they might not have actually _been_ cops.

“That one is spraying a gang sign,” Came V’s voice, and though he didn’t see her, he moved the scope towards the direction he could feel her gesturing to.

Two NCPD officers were spraying the logo for the Voodoo Boys on the warehouse door, and high fived after.

“Told you,” she continued, but her voice sounded less than annoying and more non-committal. Less emotion, just offering information as she saw fit.

It didn’t sit right with him.

When he set the gun down, resting against the edge of the roof, V was standing next to him. She leaned against the wall, and her fingers were playing with the digital construct of his dog tags around her neck, her eyes staring at them as she flipped them over. “Now we know they’re not cops, so…just go in there and get this over with.”

“V, I—”

“I get it,” She replies, dropping her hands, the dog tags swaying a bit as they dropped from her fingers. Shrugging, she looks at him, “You want to get on with your new chance at life, I’m just standing in the way. The sooner we get this done—”

“I never said any of that.”

“You were thinking it.”

He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, “You know that’s a fuckin’ lie. Wasn’t thinkin’ that.”

She rolls her eyes, “You should have been, I could feel your annoyance coming off of you in waves.”

“Wasn’t any different from all the damn times you did it to me,” he points out, taking a drag from the cigarette after.

She hops up on the ledge of the roof, and crosses one leg over the other. How she sits, the way she holds herself, reminds him of the woman sitting on the desk in his dream. It draws him in, pulls on his curiosity.

But V also sees this in his mind, and she frowns. “Johnny, I’m not a substitute for your dream girl, fucking turn your brain off. _Please_.” And there it is again, the wave of hurt coming from her.

He lets out a heavy sigh, and shakes his head, “I never said you were a substitute for shit. Stop reading my fuckin’ mind.”

“Kind of hard, when this _dream woman_ you can’t even _remember_ is all you fucking think about, Johnny. Honestly? Kinda pisses me off.”

“Why?” He questions immediately.

Her eyes narrow, and she opens her mouth to snark at him, but she quickly closes her mouth again and shakes her head. “Forget it. Not worth it.” 

“No,” he challenges, “Say it.”

V rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, “What’s the fucking point? No one can live up to the damn women in your head, Alt, Rogue, whoever the hell this other woman is, so I should just quit while I’m ahead. Shit, I’m actually _living_ in your head, and I can’t live up to it!”

His expression softens, taking one last drag of his cigarette, dropping it on the floor and putting it out with his boot. “Wasn’t tellin’ you to live up to some dumb expectation you think I have, V. Really think I wouldn’t be out here helping you, if you weren’t stuck with me? You stuck by me, V. When no one else fuckin’ could stand to be around me, and you were there 24/7. Still are.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re _forced_ again to be stuck around me, while we try to get my body back. The second I have it, you’re just going to fuck off.” Her foot bounces a bit in anxious energy, a feeling of insecurity he had never experienced her having before.

She was confident, she had a fierce and sick sense of humor, she was a force of nature, she was a violent beauty, and he was somehow making her feel less than what she was.

Fuck if that wasn’t one of the worst feelings in the world.

And _fuck_ if that wasn’t more revealing than he wanted it to be, only becoming aware that he hadn’t hid any of those thoughts from her as he watched the realization on her face form.

He pushed against it, “Yeah, I know you heard that. Ain’t got nothing to compete against.”

He can feel that she wants to say something else, but the sound of a large truck coming down the street towards the warehouse stops them.

V glitches from where she was sitting and appears again standing next to him, her arms crossed over her chest. He picks the gun up and looks through the scope once more.

“Delivery,” He says, watching the Voodoo Boys hop out of the truck to pull out the package. “Glass container, with something inside.”

“Or someone inside?” V asks.

He zooms in and he immediately gets angry. He drops the scope and starts towards the car, and V glitches in front of him, between him and the driver’s side door. “V, get out of the way.”

“We have to go about this the right way!”

“They have your fuckin’ body, and you want to _wait_?”

“Do you not remember how they tried to zero me simply for _helping_ them? Placide tried to fucking get rid of me without a second thought. You storm in there now, and they’ll make it so I can _never_ go back.”

“Took on Smasher, can take on a few of those fucks,” he replies, “we’re going now.”

“No!” She screams back at him and she shoves him away from the car.

He stumbles back, and it takes a moment before realizing that she touched him and didn’t phase through. That action alone sobers him, and it fucks with V enough that her expression completely changes.

There is a long silence between them, and in the distance, the truck pulls away the warehouse. They look from the distance to each other.

The same thought, to the point where he wasn’t exactly sure who owned it.

She glitches out of view and into the passenger seat, as he tosses the gun in the trunk and hops into the driver’s seat. The car peels out of the parking garage, and speeds down the street to follow the truck.

***

The truck pulls up to an abandoned gas station near the badlands, and Johnny wastes no time. Pistol in hand, he storms the gas station, going in blazing than silent and stealthy.

V is calling out where guys are, calling out where the cameras are. There’s only five men to take down, but they prove to be a battle all the same.

_Netrunner, by the window._ She tells him, and he runs in, shooting the runner in the head.

He doesn’t reply to what she says, only listens and trusts her as she keeps shouting out instructions.

_Motherfucker with a katana to your left. No, fucking other left!_

_Buddy with mantis blades, coming from behind. Fuck! Nice shot!_

_Sniper on the roof. Wait! Active trip wire on the stairs._

Once the sniper is down, he grabs their gun and waits for V’s judgement.

_Truck driver, coming out with a missile launcher. Oh hey, when you kill him, can you take the launcher? I have always wanted to use one!_ Despite being in the middle of a fight, her tone is much more the V he’s used to. The merc that takes the enjoyment in the fight, the amazement in the loot, the amusement in finding weird ways to zero people. She’s good at fighting, though not as good as a shot as he is.

“I heard that,” She says, with a laugh once he takes down the truck driver without a single missile being shot.

He smirks but doesn’t bother replying.

By the time get gets down to the truck, V has already glitched to the back of it, waiting for him to open it. He slides the door open and hops inside.

“Well, shit,” V immediately says, and he just nods in agreement.

Computers and terminals, a netrunner chair, it was a traveling tech lab. As V curiously looked at the wiring, he logged into the computer.

Messages addressed to the VDB, but from an unknown sender about the importance of keeping the body alive. The importance of who the person is, and that she should not be touched under any circumstances. That violating this request would mean death. The messages weren’t written in full sentences, they were staggered, and sounded almost robotic.

And another message between gang leaders about upcoming shift changes in the warehouse. Another message about how V had already given them trouble before, and they knew she was the package. They had no reason to keep her alive, because she was far more valuable to them as a new rogue AI. _Let her go back to the blackwall, we don’t have any allegiance anymore to Cunningham, not after what happened._

Johnny slowly let out, “ _Fuck_ ,” and he could feel V tensing up.

“Not good. What do we do?”

“Might need to go in now.”

“Why not wait until the shift change? If we come back with the truck now, it’s gonna seem suspicious.”

“V, I—” He started, anger starting to spike before he realized she had a point. “Shit.”

V paced in the truck, “Okay, I have one request.”

He raised an eyebrow and watched as she slowly started to smirk.

“Please don’t blow up _this_ building? I know going after a woman and bombing the place is _sort of_ your thing…but blowing the entrance off is okay though.”

“Fuck off,” he grinned.

“Back at you,” she replied in kind.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s not the most tactful entrance, but V is laughing hysterically next to him, as he drives the truck at full speed towards the warehouse. He grins like a mad man with nothing to lose, and she screams with laughter – regular Bonnie and Clyde, speeding towards an explosive entrance.

As the truck gets closer, he sets it into self-driving, keeping the speeding pace as he opens the door and waits for V’s cue.

“Now!” She yells, as he jumps from the truck, into a pile of boxes and trash catching his fall, the truck exploding once it hits the mines the Voodoo Boys had set down in the front.

It’s complete destructive chaos, and he takes off on his feet towards the building. Once again, V is the demon on his shoulder, directing him who to kill, where to dodge, and keeps her snarky remarks to a minimum when he gets hit by a stray bullet.

_Big hitters to the left, EMP grenade should fuck up their cyberware._

“On it.”

_Mantis blades, but no helmet._

“Done.”

_Surveillance cameras turned friendly; did you do that?_

“Nope,” he replied, stepping over another dead body. He was bleeding, nothing that couldn’t be healed easily in a day or two. Nothing critical, but he chose to ignore the way V panicked when she saw him pull his hand back from his side, covered in blood.

Focus. He had to stay focused.

_Think it was Alt?_ V asks in his head, _Someone’s around the corner, by the way._

“Possibly. She told me she was takin’ care of your body,” shooting around the corner, dropping the gang member from guarding the last door in the inside.

_Taking care of my body by giving them to the VDB?_

“They were tryin’ to work with her, maybe she was usin’ them.”

_Fitting, considering._

As they approached the door, it opened for them, and he stepped inside to see V had glitched into view.

She stood in front of the glass container – glass coffin, really – looking at her body submerged in water. There was a breathing mask on her, wires connecting from her jack to a nearby terminal. “I look like some fucked up fairytale,” she muttered her disappointment, masking the fear he felt screaming through her.

“Just gotta figure out how to get you out of here,” his eyes scanning over the glass, and looking up to the terminals. “I don’t wanna disconnect you, not until I am positive it won’t kill you.”

The terminals in the room go black, and a message in red appears: _Glad you learned from the past._

V frowns, and Johnny clears his throat, V feeling enough guilt for the two of them. “Alt?”

Another message: _Yes. Jack into terminal by chair. Will transfer V to body. Body fully repaired as promised._

“Ask her—” V starts, but Johnny was already speaking out loud.

“This is gonna work? She’ll get her body back this time, no questions asked? You fucked that up last time, Alt. Not lookin’ for a second time.”

Message: _Yes. Cannot control network for long before Netwatch connects. Go now._

The screens go black, and the wires connecting V’s body to a terminal light up blue. “I guess it’s that one,” V gestures to the chair, and Johnny once more senses her doubt.

“It’s gonna work this time,” He tells her, “If it doesn’t, then we’ll both go fuck off beyond the blackwall.”

She offers a half smile, “Imagine the trouble we could cause.”

He smirks, “Plan A first. Then—”

“Plan B. Good luck. And—”

“Don’t have to say it,” He says, taking a seat in the chair, and pulling a cord from the terminal to jack into it. “Tell me in person after.”

V disappears from his view as he connects into the terminal, and his vision goes black.

***

The smoke is thick as he walks through the front door to the club. Altiera is there to greet him, but she doesn’t snark at him, the mood coming off of her different than the last time they spoke. There are no words from her, only moving to hold back the curtain to the nightclub.

He takes his hat off and holds it to his side as he walks past the curtain, Silverhand’s eyes already on the stage in front of him. The club is darker tonight, and he can’t make out his fellow patrons – the only light source is the spotlight on the stage, and the microphone standing alone.

The closer he gets to the stage; his heart starts to race. He sees no sign of Veronica, but he can feel her presence.

Her heels click onto the wooden floor as if she were summoned by him simply thinking of her, draped in a black dress that flows behind her, disappearing into the shadows as she moves.

She reaches the microphone and sings sweetly into it, her voice the only music in the room. She sings of a love she’s lost, and a love she’s gained. She sings of passion and desire, of pain and destruction.

She sings to him, and him alone, her hand reaching out for him as he gets closer to the stage.

Silverhand drops his hat unceremoniously, as he walks up the stairs to the stage, a fool following the siren’s song to his demise. But if this is his demise, then he welcomes it with open arms, the sound of death never sounding as seductive as it does now.

She belts out the words, she sways to the music that only she hears, and as he stops in front of her, she finishes her song. It’s so familiar in the words, it’s so familiar in tune, but she somehow makes it sound far more tragic.

“You came,” Veronica says after, approaching him slowly. The sway of her hips, the way she smiles at him, the way her fingers dance up his arm to find the base of his neck. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

His hand moves to her side, sliding it down to her hip, bringing her towards him more. She hums in satisfaction, as she sways against him, and soon he is swaying with her, slow jazz haunting them in the distance as they moved.

“Have you?” He asks, his eyes scanning hers, “For how long?”

“Too long,” She replies, “Long enough.”

She hums the song, and he finds he does the same, the tune becoming more and more clear in his head. “I never solved your case, Ms. Fox,” he says, and she shakes her head.

“Incorrect, Mr. Silverhand, you did exactly that,” her eyes drift to his lips, and then to his tie as her fingers work to loosen it. “Try again.”

“The information from your ex-output, it led to a warehouse,” He tells her, and it doesn’t register how he knows that.

“Mmh,” She says, the tie loosened, and she slips it from his neck, tossing it to the darkness behind her.

“I—” Confusion comes in waves, “don’t know what was in it.”

A disapproving sound comes from her lips, as she runs a hand through his hair, fingers twisting black strands at the end. “Try again.” She’s slowly pushing him, slowly guiding him, swaying with him to the music.

“Your heart wasn’t there, Ms. Fox,” he tells her, “I failed you.”

“Incorrect again, Mr. Silverhand,” She coos, “You’re smarter than this.” Her other hand comes to rest on his shoulder as they dance, “Tell me about your partner,” she asks, “The one you lost.”

Had he told her of that? Of the guilt he couldn’t rid himself of. The remorse of not being able to save the one person he cared more about than himself. “I failed her too. Messed up job, ended up a double cross where the wrong person walked away unscathed. Shoulda been her.”

“It’s consuming you,” Her voice, smooth as silk, “it shouldn’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because you’ll lose her for good if it does.”

He closes his eyes as he tries to block out the images of his partner, of them arguing. _Silverhand’s goin’ back_ , she had said. _Do it for me,_ she tells him. The guilt pulls him in, wraps around his ankle, threatens to pull him down into the depths. It will drown him, if he lets it.

Her voice in his ear, “Open your eyes.”

Silverhand’s eyes open, as he scans the eyes of the woman in front of him. There’s softness there, something Ms. Fox – Veronica – hasn’t shown him before, but someone has. A familiar softness that twists in his heart.

She speaks again, as if reading his mind, “Those aren’t the names you call me,” and she stops swaying to the music. Her hands move to rest on his chest, one hand resting over his heart before she takes a step back from him. She gestures to herself in one motion, “What do you see when you look at me?”

Silverhand’s eyes scan over her, Veronica watching him carefully as he does so. He doesn’t speak, but he thinks.

He thinks of waking up in a strange time, angry out of his mind and lunging at the first person he sees. He thinks of bickering and snide remarks, words chosen to hurt and bruise, words chosen to deflect. He thinks of conspiracy theories and mysteries, a partner-in-crime to solve them with disastrous and sometimes amusing conclusions.

The panic when he sees his partner fall, and the struggle he goes through to get her to safety. The worry he has when he tells she’s not sleeping, and that their situation is consuming her. The quiet moments sitting and listening to songs he hasn’t listened to in years and songs she’s never listened to. Stupid jokes and stupid laughter, somewhere along the line the words are less to hurt and more to amuse, to tease.

The jealousy of potentially losing her to another. The effort made to cheer her when days were particularly hard. The effort she goes through for him, to help him close old wounds and apologize for words unsaid. The overwhelming feeling that burned him, the feeling he fought to ignore. Knowing that somewhere along the way, he cared more about her than he cared about himself. His life for hers. The thought of losing her, the thought of letting her down, causing him more pain than dying ever could.

When Johnny looks at her, he sees who he should have seen the whole time.

He sees V.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” V says softly, her dress shifting as she takes a small step towards him, “Have you ever been in love?”

He quickly closes the gap between him, his arm tight around her waist, his lips hard on hers. The kiss is unforgiving and consuming, it burns his lungs and clears his mind. He replies, “With you, V.”

And the room shifts, then disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left; coming up to the end of this little writing experiment! :)


	9. Chapter 9

The scene is a familiar one.

Digital landscape, standing next to V with Alt in her ‘glory’ floating in front of them. But they’re not in Mikoshi, and this time it’s different.

“The pieces were put together nicely; I am glad it worked out.” Alt says, but she speaks directly to V, who nods.

“I am too.”

“Either of you want to explain what the fuck you’re talkin’ about?” He raises an eyebrow, and Alt hums. Which sounds so strange coming from her.

“V will explain. I am finishing the transfer.” Alt disappears from their view, leaving the two of them. Typical for her to fuck off when he needed something actually _answered_.

But then they’re alone, and the memory of everything that has happened is starting to blend together. They both data now, connected via the terminal, waiting for the okay from Alt.

He can tell she’s anxious, wanting, _needing_ to get out of here, but there’s something else that underlines her mood.

V reaches up and touches her lips; it’s then that she raises her eyes to meet with is.

She doesn’t tell him what happens; she _shows_ him.

The discussions she had with Alt while she was in Mikoshi – her body wasn’t going to last long. The promise that her body would be taken care of and repaired. That Alt’s work could only do so much, but Johnny would need to figure out the rest.

Then him waking up, but certain things he was blocking out. Any time V tried to tell him something about what Alt said, he didn’t hear her at all. Like she wasn’t even there, as judging by a flash of a memory she showed of her frantically waving her hands in front of his face, and he didn’t register her as there.

“I didn’t see you?” Johnny asks, a moment of guilt pouring from his voice.

“Not when I was talking about the future. Or what I knew. You…blocked me out. In a lot of ways.” She shrugged, the glitch of her body blending into the digital landscape around them. “Until you were dreaming.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Thought you couldn’t see my dreams.”

She swallowed hard, “I lied. When you…” She trailed off, and instead there was a flash of memories.

V taking control of his body while he mentally checked out. Bringing him to Kabuki Market, connecting into the terminal in the room to meet with Alt. Putting the information Alt provided on a shard, and locking it in a chest.

Little pieces from his dream, that she made into a reality. Anything to pull him in the right direction.

The moments before he would enter a dream, the frustration that she had to needing to play a game with him. Put on an act. Become a version of herself she had always _thought_ she could be, to draw him in.

A mystery, presented to him in the purest form in his mind for him to figure out, dig through.

And she was aware. Of everything he was saying to the over version of herself, of everything he was feeling, the closeness they had in the dream that they had never achieved in real life as themselves.

Knowing that he had to unravel his feelings for her, knotted up in his fear of losing her for good by blocking himself off from the possibility of more. Knowing that it was something he had to figure out for himself, the most she was able to do was gently push him in the right direction. Knowing how deeply he felt for her.

And the overwhelming frustration that she couldn’t tell him that she felt exactly the same.

The memories stop, the information ends, and left in the digital landscape is just the two of them. In front of him, V fidgets with her hands. “There were some things I _didn’t_ know,” She says quietly, “I didn’t know about the VDBs, because Alt didn’t tell me. I didn’t know the condition of my body. I just knew the information I could pass to you.”

She rubs the back of her neck. He steps forward and takes her hand into his. “Fuck, V, I wish I could have figured all this out sooner.”

“Which part?”

“All of it,” He says quietly. What was going on, what he had been keeping from himself…

“Johnny, it worked out in the end. You worked out what you need to, Alt repaired my body. I just…want to get back to it. Get home. Wherever that is now.”

“With me,” he replies quickly, and tugs on her arm, pulling her closer to him. She rests a hand on his shoulder, and smiles.

“Let’s get me out of the warehouse first,” She says, and it’s not an admission of what she wants, of what she needs. He feels strangely stranded, waiting for something to happen. She kisses his cheek, and for a moment it feels warm against his skin, before it disappears. Before she disappears.

Alt appears at his side, as V digitally disappears from his eyes. “You can disconnect now. Good luck.”

He doesn’t say anything, he only nods. This isn’t the Alt he knows, and it’s not the past that he wants to remain stuck in.

The next time he opens his eyes, it’s back into the warehouse. He disconnects from the terminal and runs over to the glass box. He puts his arms around V, as he disconnects the wires carefully and brings her out from the ice water.

She’s cold in his arms, but then she opens her eyes and takes a deep breath. She coughs, shivering, “Fuck, I’m freezing.”

He laughs, fighting the stronger emotion taking him over, as he wraps her in his arms tightly. “Let’s go home.”

***

Hours pass.

It’s a different view, to see her physically in front of him, and him physically in front of her. Her apartment never had the two of them physically present in it before, and he’s suddenly aware of how small it is. She’s inches away from him on the couch, wrapped up in blankets and drinking coffee. Her legs are stretched out, resting on his thighs.

In front of them, the television plays the news, but he’s not paying attention to it. He’s looking at it, but nothing on the screen is getting through to him.

When he turns to look at her, she’s staring at him. She’s already set her coffee down, and she’s unwrapped the blankets around her a bit. “You know, I read something about hypothermia,” she says idly, as if she’s sprouting the most boring science fact she can think of.

There’s a mischievous smirk to her face, and this is the V he knows. The playful and wicked one, wanting him to play her game. The sultry woman in red, and the cozy woman in blankets.

“Yeah? What’s that?” He asks, but he’s already moving towards her on the couch, a grin on his lips.

“Body heat. I hear it does _wonders_ ,” she raises an eyebrow and smirks.

He hums in approval as he reaches for her, the same time that she reaches for him. He’s not one hundred percent on who makes the contact first, but when he kisses her, it feels like everything makes sense. There’s a knot that he’s had twisted up in him for as long as he could remember that is finally being unraveled. The deeper he kisses her, the moans that he pulls from her, it releases a feeling he hadn’t known he was holding back.

She squirms underneath his touch, her hands snake up under his shirt until she pulls it up over his head, and the blanket is gone from her shoulders. What he wants, is her. What he _needs_ is her.

It feels like a dream, as they discard their clothing and he wraps her in his arms, bringing her up to his lap. He kisses her hard, swallowing down her gasps and moans as he finally enters her, and she rides him so slowly that he feels like he’s going to go mad. But he doesn’t want to speed through this moment. He doesn’t want to forget a single thing about how she feels around him, how he feels inside her. How it feels like a damn _dream_ that this is even happening, because she is literally the woman of his dreams and he wants to keep this moment in his mind.

His name falls so sinfully from her lips, that it cuts through his resolve. It quickens the pace, as she rides him harder and he matches her with every thrust. Soon they’re both reaching their peak, and he wants nothing more than to just have her devour him whole – it feels like she’s already done that.

She’s a siren, calling him into her, she’s a temptress pulling all of his thoughts to just her. She’s every fucking thing he’s ever wanted, she’s…

_His._ He wants her to be his, and he tries to show it in every action, in every kiss, in how he fucks her through her climax, and he comes right after, kissing her name against her skin.

“Veronica—” he starts, but she cuts him off with a kiss again, wrapping her arm tight around him, pressing into him as if she doesn’t want to let go.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” She says, as she breaks the kiss and rests her forehead to his, “you’re _mine_. Don’t fucking forget that.”

He smirks, and kisses her roughly, his hand getting caught in her hair, “That _is_ what I was thinking.” 

“Oh,” she grins, as she pulls the large blanket around them and she wraps her arms around him, “then that’s perfect.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be posted very soon! (As in quite possibly tomorrow or Tuesday ;) )


	10. Chapter 10

Night City. A city so full of sin and corruption that it makes Las Vegas blush in the shadows. This is the world that he knows, the bright neon lights, the place where you could be as selfish or selfless as you wanted, and no one would ever truly know the difference. There was no one who was truly _good_ in this city.

Except for her.

She walks in front of him, dressed in black and silver, a dress pulled from his dream and given then modern flair. “I have a surprise for you,” she tells him, holding onto his hand as she guides him through the streets.

He had always either viewed the world through her eyes as a passenger or traveled with his own skewed view on the city, but never as this. Never as a man glad to just be near the woman he’d give his life for over and over again.

There had been a request before they left her apartment for the night; and he had easily agreed to it. She wanted him to dress up a little, and he had as much as he could. A black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the top few buttons undone by her request. Gray slacks, black shoes. She had laughed that they matched, and his reply was an easy grin.

Life could be so easy, if he let it be that way. Life with _her_ could be easy, and good. And it was.

Gone were the layered dreams, trying to weave through his thoughts and reveal what he hadn’t been able to acknowledge. In its place were peaceful dreamless nights that he found thankful for, waking up to her each morning whispering words into his ear that he hadn’t allowed himself to hear her whisper to him before.

Whispers of love, and adoration, of passion and desire.

He feels a tug on his hand, “You’re in your head again, aren’t you?” V grins easily at him, and he just laughs. Caught, he knows, there’s no sense to hide from it. “We’re here.”

They stand in front of an unmarked building, unremarkable in every way. When they enter, it is only an elevator and a man guarding it. The guard steps to the side and lets them enter the elevator.

“Is this another Kerry and Us Cracks thing?” He quips, raising an eyebrow in her direction. Her hand is still in his, she edges closer to him in the elevator.

She doesn’t reply to him, she simply just smirks.

The look of someone up to something. Trouble. She’s forever up to trouble, and he’s forever thankful for it.

The doors open, and everything looks so familiar. There’s a hostess stand, with a redhaired woman behind it. Behind her is a deep purple velvet curtain. The hostess looks up with a smile, but she doesn’t say anything.

She knows they’re coming, and she steps out from behind the stand, to pull the curtain back.

V walks in front of him then, her eyes bright with amusement, “Mr. Silverhand,” she grins, her voice dropping lower, more sultry tones he had only ever heard her use in his dreams, “would you care you enjoy a night of music with me?”

The connection is made instantly, and he grins, “Ms. Fox, I couldn’t imagine a better time.” He lets her pull him past the curtain, and into the night club in front of them.

It’s not the same as his dream. It has the same flair that most clubs in Night City has, overly neon, overly chrome. Smoke, sex, and seduction is still heavy in the air, but he doesn’t need to cut through it. In front of him, the most beautiful woman is pulling him in like a siren and he’s all the more willing to follow whatever she has planned.

There’s a live band playing on stage; it’s not jazz music but it’s closer to what he used to know as indie rock from the 2020s. People are excitedly chatting with each other, drinking, laughing. In front of the stage, there is a dance floor, and as the song changes to a slower one, Johnny knows what V is doing before she does it.

She leads him to the dance floor, and he easily follows step. His metal arm wraps around her waist and pulls her tight against him. His other hand holds onto hers, and her hand delicately goes to the base of his neck, her fingers tapping against the beat on his skin.

“Have we been here before?” He asks her, because the similarities are hard to ignore. It’s not the same as the dream, but it’s close enough that he needs to ask. Like how her spot in Kabuki had been the same.

“No,” she shakes her head, and smiles as they move slowly to the music, “But I found this place a few days ago, and I could not resist. Like the surprise?”

He hums in approval, “Yep.” He lets his hand slip down lower on her back, as he moves her other hand to rest on his shoulder. His lips press against her neck, as she moves against him, a breathy laugh escaping her.

“We’re not in your dream,” She whispers, “we’re in public,” but it doesn’t stop her from getting closer to him, to guiding his head up so she can kiss him in the middle of the dance.

“Don’t care,” he mutters against her lips, because he doesn’t care that there are others around them. Doesn’t care that there is anything that exists outside of them.

He barely hears her reply of, “ _good_ ,” the word getting caught in the kiss, her hand in his hair. They’re entwined in each other until the song ends, and it almost doesn’t register that it’s faster song. She breaks the kiss, though she doesn’t seem _happy_ about it.

“Come on,” she says, and guides him towards the bar.

They spend the rest of the night at the bar, talking and drinking. She moves her seat closer to him, his hand is always touching her in some respect, she keeps looking at him like he’s the only person in Night City worth a damn. He knows, because it’s how he’s looking at her.

She makes fun of him for his noir dreams, but grins that she enjoyed playing a part in them. “Prefer the real life now to that,” he says with a grin, and eyes her up and down slowly to prove the point.

“Thank god for that,” she laughs. “But you need to promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

V leans into him and kisses him. “Promise me, no matter where the future takes us…” she pauses, leaning back at bit to look at him. Her eyes dart from his lips to his eyes, “…that you _never_ become a private investigator, Mr. Silverhand, because you _fucking sucked at it_.”

He roars with laugher, and in response pulls her into his lap, and grins. Public be dammed, this dame was _his._

“No promises, Ms. Fox.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end! Thank you for reading this little story! If you're interested in some of my other Johnny/V rambles, I've been collecting them all in [this series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114709) for easier access :) 
> 
> <3 catch you on the next one!


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